


The problem with promises

by ChesapeakeStripper



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Bottom Hannibal Lecter, M/M, Murder Husbands in Cuba, Post Season 3, Scalpel but not used, Shameless Smut, Top Will Graham, i don't know how to tag, making lube from blood, mentions of past sexual experiences, nothing here is platonic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:09:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25181524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChesapeakeStripper/pseuds/ChesapeakeStripper
Summary: “Come stand in front of the desk.” His free hand falls to the scalpel, gently running over it as he watches Hannibal move, his shoulders back, standing at full height, not to impose but impress. Even if he had wanted to, Will can’t take his eyes off him, the grace that Hannibal uses to carry himself. When he stands in front of the desk, it’s finally his turn to smirk, his mind pleasantly blank except for the thoughts on what he was about to do to the man in front of him. He simply raised an eyebrow, eyes travelling down to the pants before Hannibal started to remove them as well, finally standing before him nude and far too composed.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Kudos: 60





	The problem with promises

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own the rights to these characters and any mistakes in the work are entirely my own. Technically this is the first work I have actually shared outside of discord, so enjoy!

The soft scratch of pencil against paper doesn’t cease as Will enters the study, the only thing that gives Hannibal’s awareness away is the slightest curve of lips. There is no classical music being played for a change today, he wonders briefly if Hannibal is lost in thought, then again, he is probably composing something of his own inside his own mind, using the quiet to focus on the notes he is creating before he writes it down to play at a later time for him. They only have a piano in the house, not a harpsichord like Hannibal had desired, but Will had forbidden it, putting his foot down and reminding Hannibal that the FBI was still looking for them. 

_ “There is a vast difference between plucking a string to produce a sound to striking it.” _

_ There had been a roll of his eyes as he watched Hannibal use the flat edge of the knife to crush a clove of garlic, the shirt he was wearing rolled up, exposing his wrists and the scars from all those years ago when Will had wanted him dead. But what was more impressive to Will was the force Hannibal used to crush the garlic, splitting it, opening it up before he took the knife away, peeling the skin off, then coming back with the knife and chopping it finely with such precision and finesse, fully focused on the task at hand. The ability to exert such force before going straight back to posed and elegant, and what could almost be considered nurturing in another way. Nurturing didn’t feel like the right word to describe Hannibal Lecter, but it suited, for here Hannibal was feeding him and caring for his wounds. Not with clinical detachment, but a reverence. _

_ “Alana already found you in Italy, she has more than enough reason to hunt you down now.”  _

_ “Because I am a threat to her family.” Hannibal looked up, smiling to reveal the sharp canines like a wolf. “Little does she know of the promise I made for you.” _

_ “You already bought your old drawings and had them sent here.”  _

_ “Everyone has a price.” Cruelty twists in those words as Hannibal brings a cut of meat to the chopping board, swapping knives as he fillets the silver skin from the flesh with practised ease.  _

_ “There are also patterns and behaviours that Alana and Jack will be looking for.” He leans forward and takes the offcuts of meat and passes it to the small dog at his feet. The stray that they picked up on the way back, so happy to jump into Will’s arms for warmth and shelter from the streets of Cuba. Hannibal had frowned at first, until Will told him it would help them look like a couple. He still hasn’t come to a decision on a name, nor has Hannibal provided anything either yet. No doubt it will be something ostentatious, if he tries to call it Jack though, Will thinks he might just kick him out and make him sleep on the sofa. Though Hannibal wouldn’t truly care, he’d just smirk at getting such a reaction from him, the thought makes him roll his eyes. “If you’re so insistent about plucked versus struck chords for your music, buy one of those electric keyboards that can play both and even a violin.” _

_ He’s quick to pick up the glass of wine to hide his smirk, for the look that crosses Hannibal’s face is likely what many view for the last time, before they grace his table as something far more refined than what they could have ever hoped to achieve in their life.  _

Even now, the memory from only two weeks ago still makes him smirk as he casually strolls past, heading to his favourite armchair with the coffee table set up beside, a new decanter of whiskey perched on top, he takes one of the Glencairn glasses, pouring two fingers. There’s a new appreciation for the drink now, not just a way to get drunk, to forget about nightmares, a pressing day that used to involve bloodshed, or what he has never admitted before, coping with a loss that he inflicted upon himself. 

As he raises the glass and brings it closer to his nose, he inhales the aroma. The butterscotch reminds him of the sweet taste when Hannibal has kissed him, the barrel it’s been brewed in is cedarwood like the former doctor’s fine aftershave. As he sips it, the warmth swirls over his palate before finally travelling down his throat and coiling in his belly, it warms him from the inside, radiating outwards. His eyes grow slightly hooded as he looks at Hannibal now, still sipping on the drink as he savours the sight in front of him more than the whiskey in his glass. It’s taken years to get to this point, to reach a true equilibrium between them. Where they see each other, acknowledge their desires and where they have both started to act upon them. There is no fear in their relationship anymore, there is only acceptance and someone who does not shy away from any part of him.

A hum leaves him as he rises from the chair slowly with his glass in hand, deciding to glance at what Hannibal is bringing to life. It’s easy to follow the motions of the pencil, watch the careful strokes that are made to create something Hannibal considers beautiful even if others do not find it so. It’s for their eyes only. It’s a homage to him, he knows cause he sees his own face reflected back at him from the drawing. A moment of their time captured, stored in Hannibal’s memory palace and bought to life to show Will the beauty of his becoming. At first, he was self-conscious about Hannibal sketching him, despite the drawings he had brought, which were all of him, for Hannibal’s eyes only Will knew. It was not in his nature to share personal aspects of his own life with others, it had to be earned. Very few had gotten close, but here Will sat now, basking on the other side, his old life becoming distant as he started a new chapter. It seemed Hannibal was trying to capture it in some way, he recognised the style, had caught a glimpse of it a few nights before on Hannibal’s iPad when they were in bed. It’s a twisted rendition of the death of Albine, who had picked flowers from her own garden and laid them upon her bed to suffocate herself with their scent. But Hannibal’s version gives life instead of taking it away.

There Will was in the painting, sprawled on silk sheets like that of their own shared bed, roses, sedum, carnations and snapdragons bloom from his chest cavity that is opened and exposed, while blood is spread on the bed along with a few petals. His heart is replaced by roses for love and passion, he imagines them being as vivid red as the blood that flows through his veins. The snapdragons that replace his stomach and intestines represent the desire that grows in the belly and spreads throughout. The sedum pokes out from where the liver would normally rest for bonds of affection. While the lungs are replaced with carnations for bravery and strength. 

In the original painting, Albine’s eyes were closed and the viewer saw her from the side, but this version WIll’s eyes are open, seeing, and the viewer stares down at him. It’s a version of his becoming, the acceptance of what lays within him, just more visceral in the depiction. The flower arrangement is different to the man Hannibal had left once in a car park, the flowers chosen for him now, not a courtship as it had been back then, it’s a depiction of what he allowed to bloom when he accepted what Hannibal had seen in him all along.

There’s a desire to run his fingers over it, to feel the roughness of the paper, but he refrains from doing so, knowing the graphite would smudge under his fingertips and ruin the careful cross-hatching of the shading. Instead, he stands above it, watching Hannibal’s hand glide over the image to add more detail before it came to a halt and he tilted his head up at Will as he set his pencil to the side, gauging his reaction to his work. It’s hardly the last sketch that Hannibal would capture of him, he had learnt recently to finally accept himself, though it was still intense to be the object of so much devotion. Fingers reached over, picking up the pencil as let the tip press into the palm of his hand, blunting the tip of it before he reached over and picked up the scalpel. Desires courses through him as he thinks on how Hannibal would look laid out on their bed, on the silk sheets covered in his blood and flowers blooming within. The scalpel in his hand is the same surgical kind used when they procure meat for the table, the sharpened edge gleams in the light, a different shade of grey to the rest of the scalpel. He brings the scalpel to the pencil, eyes glancing up to meet maroon ones that bore into his own, a slight tilt to Hannibal’s head as he tries to calculate his train of thought. His eyes don’t leave Hannibal’s as he resharpens the pencil, placing it back on the table, taking his glass of whiskey as he saunters back to his chair again, the scalpel still held in his hand as he sits and sips his drink. 

“Stand.. Take off your shirt.” He orders as he lays the scalpel on the armrest, instead picking up the decanter to refill his glass. There’s a knowing look in Hannibal’s eyes, a silent ‘that’s the mood were in then?’ His eyes don’t move from Hannibal, watching as the man rolls his chair back slowly and stands, hands coming up to his shirt as his fingers deftly start to undo them. “Slowly.”

Will leant back as he watched Hannibal’s lips part, curving up at the edges in a smile as he revealed teeth. He sips his whiskey again as he watches hands slow, fingers trailing down his shirt as it opens to reveal his chest, the flecks of grey hair showing his age and highlighting defined muscles. He’s not ripped, there’s a softness to his flesh that comes with age, it makes him look more human in some way, yet hides the predator that lurks within, ready to strike at a moment's notice. As the final button opens, Hannibal rolls his shoulders, letting the shirt slip back to reveal his upper body. As it drops to the floor, Will lets out a long breath, taking it in. 

“Come stand in front of the desk.” His free hand falls to the scalpel, gently running over it as he watches Hannibal move, his shoulders back, standing at full height, not to impose but impress. Even if he had wanted to, Will can’t take his eyes off him, the grace that Hannibal uses to carry himself. When he stands in front of the desk, it’s finally his turn to smirk, his mind pleasantly blank except for the thoughts on what he was about to do to the man in front of him. He simply raised an eyebrow, eyes travelling down to the pants before Hannibal started to remove them as well, finally standing before him nude and far too composed.

“You seem determined to have me stripped and claimed in every room of the house. Or vice versa.” 

Will let out a hum of agreement, leaning back further as he watched Hannibal’s body react to him, the little jerk of his cock as it started to fill and the foreskin starting to recede slightly. It pleasing to know he had such an effect on a man who prided himself in hiding his emotions from the world, he couldn’t hide the pleasures of his body from him though. 

“More filling the rooms of your mind palace in case you get caught again. I’m sure you’d appreciate the company there.” He lest his eyes skim over Hannibal once again, lifting the scalpel in thought for a moment. “Turn around and bend over.”

Doing as requested, Hannibal turns, the Verger brand on his back catches Will’s eye for a moment as he feels a surge of disgust coarse through him. He remembers seeing the photos from when Hannibal had been arrested, the bright red skin and the blisters, a second-degree burn, Alana had told him later how it hadn’t healed properly, she suspected that the doctors at the hospital did not treat it correctly. Though Will suspected she hadn’t cared nor checked the progress of the wound, and Hannibal was hardly the type to admit to pain or discomfort. Instead he bared with it, likely treating it himself in some way. It stood out now like a brand, the raised edges present and defined, if Hannibal was still experiencing pain he never spoke of it. Still, Will wanted to walk over with the scalpel, to peel the tainted flesh away and remove what Mason had done. He caught Hannibal looking back at him then, maroon eyes meeting his with a knowing smile. Hannibal would let him take the scalpel to his skin, to slice the brand from him, to instead have Will’s own brand on his back, he’d wear it with pride. Still, Will knows the location and previous scar tissue underneath would not promote healthy healing, and there’s no way to bring the skin together, not with the size of the brand. 

Instead of thinking on it further, he moves from the chair and comes to stand behind Hannibal, placing his somewhat still full glass on whiskey on the man’s back as he places the scalpel back on the table, left forgotten as he lets his hand move over Hannibal’s, running up his arm, then down his back before coming to cup his ass.

“I’m going to take you apart, with my hands, my mouth, and my cock in your ass.”

He felt the intake of breath from Hannibal, watched his shoulder blades shift as a tremor ran through his body. If he had of been wearing evening his dress shirt, it would have been mostly hidden, made to look like he was squaring his shoulders. Will was still keen to learn what effect his voice had over the man, to acquaint himself with what pleasured Hannibal, but also what aspects he enjoyed more. Taking charge was new to him, something Hannibal was happy to let him do.

Will let his hands now run over Hannibal’s back, moving to circle his chest, feeling the flesh under them start to heat as he let fingers run through chest hair before gliding over Hannibal’s nipples. There soft and velvety to the touch for a few seconds before they start to harden under his gentle ministrations, perking up as Will twists one rather crudely, feeling Hannibal breathe in sharply for a second before he lets it out slowly. He can’t help but to lean in close, letting his own clothed chest rub up against Hannibal’s bareback, his pants resting against Hannibal’s bare ass, he’s already half-hard cock growing more as he rests it there, whispering in Hannibal’s ear. “So sensitive for me. Do you like it when I touch you here?” He twists the nipple again for emphasis, biting on Hannibal’s lobe as he hears the breathy moan leave the man’s lips. “Tell me.”

“Yes.” A shudder runs through Hannibal as he presses back into Will, feeling the outline of his cock trapped in his pants, it’s stiff and heat radiates from it through WIll’s clothing, he knows what’s about to happen, glories in how he will be claimed by Will. “I don’t want you to hold back.”

The remark earns Hannibal a playful bite, teeth sinking into his shoulder hard, almost drawing blood. Even as Will draws back, there are indents there now, dark prints against Hannibal’s warm skin tone, reddened in the centre. He releases one of Hannibal’s nipples, letting his hand come over to brush the mark, feeling Hannibal move under him, press his body back and relish in the pain Will provides him. “Who said anything about holding back?”

That draws a breathy moan from Hannibal, ass lifting as he feels Will bending over him, giving in to his own desires to take him, and Hannibal wants to glory in it. 

“I’m not your first.” It’s a question and a statement, Will can feel Hannibal’s body under him and knows that he has experienced similar pleasures before, it’s evident by the way he seeks him now, not only for himself but to appease him as well, entice him closer. Hannibal’s ass keeps making subtle movements against his hard cock, keep the friction up under the fabric, wanting to make Will want him. “How many were there before me?”

Hannibal’s head lowers slightly, rolling his shoulders as Will presses in closer, the one hand left on his chest gently circles his nipple, an encouragement to talk. “When I was younger, exploring my own sexuality, not that I ever defined myself to one category.”

Leaning forward, Will lets his forehead rest on the back of Hannibal’s neck as he lets out a laugh. Trust Hannibal to not confine himself to one specific label, no, that would be too mundane. Of course, he flitted around and experimented, he had slept with Alana and in some ways flirted with him back in Baltimore. “When was the last time you were taken?” For emphasis, Will lets his hips rock forward, moving Hannibal’s ass in rolling motions as he kisses the right shoulder blade, lips trailing down to the exit wound that the Dragon left behind a few months before. It’s healed well, but still, Will wants to touch and taste it, lets his tongue roll over it before applying a gentle kiss. It’s a scar he has left on Hannibal by default, caused by his games with the Dragon, trying to get him to kill Hannibal, how glad he is that it didn’t end that way.

“In my early twenties.” Hannibal provides, turning slightly to look at Will. “I only experienced it a few times, it felt quite intimate, and so I wanted to wait until I found someone who was worthy.”

“Do you consider me worthy?” The puckered red skin of the bullet wound shines now with saliva as Will kisses it gently, sucking on it slightly to watch Hannibal’s eyes half-close. He takes his right hand, moving it to Hannibal’s right wrist and letting a finger trace down the scar Matthew Brown left behind. His glass of whiskey still sits on Hannibal’s back, balanced evenly on his flesh, he takes his hand away from the scar and stands behind Hannibal, hips still pressed forward as he lifts the glass to his lips and sips. 

“We killed a Dragon. And many more after that. I see you as my equal.” It earned him a roll of hips again, Will’s hand lowering his glass of whiskey to rest again on Hannibal’s back before his free hand came to cup his right ass cheek affectionately, gripping the muscle gently before he starts to massage it lightly. 

“Many more? Luckily, I’ve been able to keep track, there has only been six so far… I suspect you have lost count, or perhaps you didn’t count at all with some.” His hand moves from Hannibal, taking the lube he has bought with him pulled free from his pants pocket, uncapped before it’s lightly drizzled between Hannibal’s cheeks. A delicious aroma of caramel permeates the air, he smiles knowing that Hannibal will recognize the scent. It’s the lube he had made himself only a few days ago with the plasma from the blood of their latest kill. A man who had recognised them from the chemist, Will had seen the recognition in his eyes as Hannibal paid for their supplies. Then they had waited till the man left, a quick headlock to make him pass out before he was bought back to their apartment. Will remembers sitting next to the man as he stirred, tied to a chair, a sock shoved into his mouth for a gag to muffle the screams. But Will had been impressed, the man had not screamed, he just simply looked at them and knew, he hadn’t had time to call anyone, to alert authorities. He had made the death swift, a hand feeling along the chest to place a blade between the ribs to pierce his heart. Hannibal had watched from the side until it was done, Will had removed the blade, holding it in his hand as Hannibal had walked over, taking his wrist and then leading him to the bedroom. They had only used the blood, he was an old frail man, they had not wanted to consume him, but Hannibal still made use of him in other ingenious ways. Taking the blood and separating the plasma before using it to make his own lube, Will had stood in the doorway shaking his head in amusement as he watched Hannibal work. 

Now he can feel Hannibal roll back against him, hears him scenting the air and knows he is smiling, approving of his choice. Will lets his fingers trail down between Hannibal’s cheeks, circling his hole before he pushes one in, twisting it as he feels the tension of the muscles against the intruding digit. “I enjoy seeing you like this.” His voice holds a note of awe as he watches Hannibal move slowly on his fingers, letting him guide his hand to what he finds pleasurable. He leys his left hand settle on Hannibal’s back, just below the brand and the glass of whiskey. “Don’t spill it, it’s actually quite pleasant, it complements you well.”

Hannibal doesn’t get the chance to respond as Will pushes in the second digit, sliding his fingers further in then curving them down to hit the sweet bundle of nerves, taking his own pleasure in watching the shiver runs through Hannibal’s body and how his toes curl. It continues on for a few minutes, waiting on the muscles to relax before he scissors. He’s not cruel, and if he wants to do this again, he wants Hannibal to desire it enough to come and ask him next time, perhaps even beg him in that oh so sophisticated way of his. And he will sit back and watch, tease him a bit until he gets Hannibal to ask him, maybe even gets the older man to straddle him in bed and take it on his own next time and make him do the work. While Hannibal might view as slightly undignified, Will would relish it, to watch him come undone for him, to stretch himself open and ease himself down onto his waiting cock.

“Let me hear you.” His own breathing is rougher now, heavier as he keeps the front of his pants pressed against Hannibal, fingers buried in him now as the third digit slips inside ever so smoothly. His left-hand strokes up and down Hannibal’s back, sometimes leaning in to let his fingers brush over his left nipple. “Please.”

That’s when the silence of the room shatters and Hannibal lets out a low groan, ass pushing back onto the fingers as he encourages Will deeper. 

“Yes.” Will breathes out, curling his middle finger as he brushes the bundle of nerves inside Hannibal to draw out another moan of pleasure, hearing his breath come quicker now. “No, don’t come like this, I want to be in you. I want you to milk my cock.”

He feels it as Hannibal lifts his ass then, but he doesn’t utter a single word, bringing his hand to Hannibal’s head, combing through his hair and then gripping it to pull it back towards him. “I want to hear you.” There is a desire to see Hannibal beg in some way, even if it’s just a repetition of words, he wants to see the man come undone before him and expose himself, to lose some of his dignity that he holds onto so dearly. Hannibal’s mouth falls open as Will swoops in and kisses him, stealing his breath and making Hannibal tense under him and arch up to meet his lips as his eyes close for a moment. When the kiss breaks, Will can see for the briefest of seconds the loss in Hannibal’s eyes before they open fully and stare into his own again, burning with desire. 

“Cruel.” He smiles for the briefest of seconds as Will lets go, letting his teeth show as he drags his fingers out of Hannibal, keeping his left hand tangled in his hair.

“I can show you cruel,” His tone isn’t dangerous, more appreciative. His free hand dives to his pants, undoing the front as he pulls then down, the homemade lube is leaving his fingers slick and slightly sticky and sweet as he takes a hold of his own cock and lines it up. “I know you like to see me like this, my quiet sense of power.” Ducking his head, he steals another long kiss, enjoying the feel of Hannibal’s mouth part to allow him deeper, inviting him in so willingly.

“Yes,” Hannibal moaned as the kiss breaks, breathless. Will doesn’t wait any longer, his hand grips Hannibal’s hair to tilt his head back and make the man arch his back, holding him tighter as he pushes in, watching his eyes flutter with pain and pleasure, how his mouth falls open before he looks back to Will again, asking for more. Will knows he wants it, wants to feel him, for Will to mark him, to be brutal and animalistic in some way, even days later as he moves around the house, the dull ache it will cause. The very thought of watching Hannibal have a slight limp, or even simply walking with an altered gait makes him thrust in harder, trying to make his vision come to fruition.

The tightness around his cock makes him moan into Hannibal’s own open waiting mouth, kissing him harder as he feels the stuttered breath coming from the man under him. Finally, Hannibal lets out a guttural moan as his eyelids flutter, arching back against Will to take him deep despite the hard thrusts.

“Will,” It’s so needy and wanton and Will’s eyes fall to the desk where he watches Hannibal grip onto the edge, enough to make his knuckles pale. He smiles wider, teeth nipping at Hannibal’s bottom lip as he thrusts in again, feeling his balls slap against his ass, the rich slide of his cock in Hannibal’s ass thanks to their caramel lube. Will glories in it as he continues the kiss, despite it being rough, he’s not that cruel to deny Hannibal pleasure. The glass that is balanced on his back moves with their thrusts, it’s contents sloshing up against the sides but remarkably not spilling, Will is careful enough to continue avoiding it. Besides, he enjoys feeling Hannibal’s stuttered breaths against his lips, watching the flicker of emotions dance across his face as he continues, he knows Hannibal is close when his back arches and he breathes deeper, trying to delay what is coming, but Will won’t let him.

Lips seal over Hannibal’s own as he bites down, the taste of blood blooms over his tongue as he picks up his own pace and changes his breathing, holding it as he lets his hips grind and roll. Hannibal comes first, deprived of the ability to control his breathing and the relentless pace, his ass clenching around Will as he feels the man moan into his mouth. It’s only seconds later when WIll follows, hips rolling forward and pressing deep as possible as he twitches inside of Hannibal finally breaking the kiss to pant and lay over the man he loves. 

He’s gentle, not putting pressure on his still somewhat healing bullet wound as he lets go of his hair, but still kisses him. Unable to turn away from the sight of swollen bloody lips, and dilated pupils fully blown that stare into his own like he is the most magnificent thing they have ever seen. “I wanna hear you scream next time.”

That earns him a laugh, a smile and a kiss as Hannibal shifts his body and Will pulls out, quick to grab the glass of whiskey before it falls and it’s contents are wasted on the floor. Fingers drop down to scoop the cum that leaks down thighs slowly. 

Hannibal finally stands, looking down to Will’s fingers before he takes them in his own hand, bringing them up to his mouth as he sucks on the digits, humming around them. Will curls up closer, leaning in to kiss Hannibal again. It’s soft and gentle, completely different to what just happened. He lets his hands trail over shoulders, running down Hannibal’s sides before closing around him, then down to cup his ass. “We should really take a shower.”

“Perhaps you should bring my lube with you, seems such a waste to not try it out, seeing as I had you in mind when I made it.”

The remark earns Hannibal a swat, playful despite the thud it creates. But then Will is back, kissing him again and licking at the edge of his lips where the blood still lingers. “You going to lay me down on silk sheets and tear me apart in return?”

“Unfortunately you didn’t hold true to your promise, of undoing me with your mouth… Let me show you how.”


End file.
